


Sliding Scale

by iTony



Series: Tony Snark [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Explicit Language, Gen, Humor, Mild Sexual Content, Snarky Tony, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Tony-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 14:36:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6156784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iTony/pseuds/iTony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony considers becoming a villain, and Thor struggles to completes a Sudoku puzzle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sliding Scale

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to Reindeer Games.

Tuesday morning found all of the Avengers in their break room, biding their time before a mandatory debriefing.  No one was sure what the nature of the meeting was and so their dress was eclectic.  Natasha had come in full gear; bristling with guns, knives, garrots, sprays, flash-bangs, and a number of nasty-looking objects that the others could only guess at, she stared out the window, polishing a small silver pistol and looking grimly resigned to carry out whatever assignment they were given.  Clint hadn’t gone quite as overboard, but he had tossed a quiver of arrows over his shoulder just in case.  He hovered by the Keurig machine, swilling down coffee as quickly as he could make it.  Steve and Bruce, on the other hand, were dressed for comfort; both had come in slacks and polos, and were sharing the morning paper together on a heavily-worn burgundy couch.  Thor, who had been annoying everyone by tossing Mjölnir up and catching it, had put it down after Bruce had given him the paper’s Sudoku puzzle.  He was leaning against the wall by the couch, now deeply engrossed in solving the puzzle.  His casual stance contrasted sharply with his clothing, which may had been casual for an Asgardian but stuck out like a sore thumb among the rest of them.  The red cape and the heavy leather riding boots made him look ready for battle; the absence of his helmet was the only indication that he wasn’t ready to jump into a fray at a moment’s notice.  Tony had arrived last, dressed in a thoroughly rumpled suit that looked like he’d slept in it and sunglasses.  He refused coffee and sat at one of the tables, head in his hands, clearly fighting a wicked hangover.

“Hmm,” said Bruce, gesturing to the section of the paper he was reading.

“Hmm,” agreed Steve.  “Do you think that’s what Fury wants to talk about?”

“What else could it be?”

Natasha looked up sharply.  “What?  What is it?”

“Says here that Scattershot issued a threat at midnight, warning the Pentagon that she was onto something big.”

Natasha scowled.  “That’s so Scattershot.  Announces it every time.  What a drama queen.”

“Well, this time, it looks like she may just pull it off.  She’s teamed up with Nemesis and Pandemic.”

Tony looked up blearily.  “Did you say Scattershot, Nemesis, and Pandemic teamed up?”

“Mmm-hm,” said Bruce, flipping a page of the paper casually.  

Tony sat up a little straight.  “Guys.   _Guys_.  Do you know what this means?”

“They’re calling themselves the Half-Honored,” murmured Steve, gesturing.

Clint sipped his coffee.  “Well, that’s kind of neat.”

“ _Guys_.”

Bruce and Steve looked up.  “Yes, Tony?” asked Bruce patiently.

“You’re telling me that the three hottest super-villains teamed up yesterday?”

“I guess so,” said Bruce, mildly.

“I thought Pandemic was dating Jackal,” cut in Natasha.

“No, no, they broke up last week,” replied Steve.  “Are we the only ones who read the paper?”

Tony made a “time-out” gesture with his hands.  “So you’re telling me that _Pandemic_ is single and she’s hanging out with _Nemesis_ and _Scattershot_?”  He lowered his sunglasses and looked around at the rest of the team incredulously.  “Well, that settles it, everyone.  I’m going over to the other side.”

Thor looked up from his Sudoku puzzle.  “You jest.”

“No.  I’m serious.  I’m going to be a villain now.  You can call me Turncoat or Reforge or something.  I’ve got to get in on this new team.”

Natasha rolled her eyes.  “Give me a break.  Like you have a chance with any of them.”

“Are you kidding me?  Pandemic’s probably on the rebound!  Do you even know who Pandemic is?”  Without waiting for Natasha to answer, he continued, “On a scale of one to ten in hotness, where one is Susan Boyle and eight is anyone in the Victoria’s Secret catalogue, she’s like… an eleven.”

“Why is your scale one to eight?” demanded Bruce, who preferred things in log ten.

“It’s not.  It’s one to ten.”

“Well then who the hell are nine and ten?” asked Natasha.

“Nine is Pepper, ten is slutty Pepper, and eleven is an undefined, theoretical hotness that I’ve been researching for years,” said Tony, standing.  “And I might have found it.  I can’t pass this up.  Pandemic is so hot.  Oh my God.  And she’s also very willing to put out.  On a scale of one to ten, where one is a nun that other nuns think is too prude and ten is me on Ecstasy trying to outdo my last sex tape, she’s like a nine.  Jackal must be _insane_ to let her go.”

“Do you have a scale for everything?” asked Steve, raising an eyebrow calmly.

“Yes.  Yes I do.”

“How drunk did you get last night?”

“On a scale of Mormon housewife to David Hasselhoff eating a hamburger, about a Robert Downey Jr.”

“Uh-huh.  And how drunk are you now?”

“On the same scale?  Like, a 2007 Britney.”

Steve put down the paper in exasperation.  “Tony, do you remember the last time you came in drunk?  You thought that it would be a good idea to get Doc Oct on the team, you tried to eat condensed soup straight from the can, and you ended up shredding a ton of S.H.I.E.L.D. documents because you thought the shredder was the fax.  My point is, you have terrible ideas when you’re drunk and this is one of them.  The Half-Honored are obviously a major threat to national security and it’s nothing to joke about.”

“I’m not joking.  I’m going to join their team.  On a scale of one to ten, where one is a snowball’s chance in hell and ten is the likelihood that Cap will disapprove of something I do at the Hard Rock Café when it’s already past his bed-time, I think I have a chance of about a seven or higher.  I’m going to try to hook up with Pandemic, or maybe even Nemesis.  Clint, you knew Nemesis before she turned, didn’t you?”

Clint nodded, sipping a new cup of coffee.  “Yeah.  I should have probably seen that coming, what with the name and everything.”

“How much does Nemesis like being lectured about electronics?  Like, assuming she was dating a guy with really poor listening skills who just wanted to talk about building really awesome mech suits?”

Clint shrugged.

“On a scale of socially anxious lepidopterist to an election-year senator with a hardware fetish, where does she stand?”

Clint looked deeply puzzled.  “These scales are really confusing.”

“Are lepidopterists known for being self-absorbed?  Because honestly, they seem like they’d be good listeners to me,” added Bruce.

“Answer the question!” demanded Tony.

“Okay, okay, she’s like an eight.”

Tony flung an arm out at Clint like he was evidence.  “Do you guys hear that?  We’ve got an eleven in hotness, and a nine in putting out, and an eight in listening to me ramble!  These women are perfect for me!”  He stumbled toward the door.  “Tell Fury I’m canceling!  On a scale of _gone_ from one to ten, where one is the expired ketchup in the fridge that no one wants to admit is theirs, and ten is my libido after that one MILF called me Howard last night, I am _gone._ ”

He waltzed out the door, slamming it behind him.  

“It’s _his_ ketchup,” said Bruce, sounding annoyed.  Natasha rolled her eyes.  Clint shook his head and began preparing a cup of coffee.  Steve sighed and went back to their paper.  Only Thor looked bothered.

“Friends,” he said gravely, “I fear this is worse than we know.”  Everyone looked toward him.  He held up the square of newspaper he’d been holding.  “His talk of numbers has ruined my riddle, which I have been solving in pen.  Alas, it is ruined.”  


*    *    *  


They didn’t expect to see Tony again that day, but after the debriefing, as they were walking down the hall toward the break room, he came walking toward them.  He was wearing his suit, minus the helmet.  He’d recolored it; once red-and-gold, it was now red-and-black.  He was carrying an open cardboard box.

“Hey, guys!  It’s me, Heel-Turn.”  He scanned their faces anxiously.  “Do you like that or do you think that Alloy Enemy is cooler?”

“Goddammit, Tony!”  Clint started toward him, but Steve put a hand out to stop him.  Bruce closed his eyes and his lips moved silently, counting.

“Tony, do you have any idea how upset Director Fury is at you right now?” asked Steve.

“Honestly, no.  On a one to ten scale, where one is my pothead yoga instructor huffing patchouli on Earth Day and ten is Bruce at the mall on Christmas Eve and they just sold out of giant purple shorts, how upset is he?”

Steve frowned.  “He’s really, really upset.”

“Like, what, a nine?”

“Really upset,” repeated Steve stubbornly.

“Yikes.  Good thing I don’t work for S.H.I.E.L.D. anymore.  I’m just grabbing my stuff.”

“That’s mine!” said Thor suddenly, reaching into the box and pulling out an obviously Asgardian helmet.

“Hey… this is mine, too!” cried Natasha, pulling out a taser.

“This is all ours!”  protested Clint, pulling out the Keurig machine.

“Okay, you caught me.”  Tony grinned.  “I’m a bad guy now so I just sort of helped myself.”

“Did you at least take your ketchup out of the fridge?” asked Bruce, gritting his teeth.

“That’s not mine.”

“It is!  It _is_ yours!”

“On a scale of this goatee and hair combo,” he said, gesturing toward his face, “to that kid Mercedes tried to pin on me, that ketchup is definitely a Brayden.”

“What the hell does that mean?” hissed Bruce.  He was growing tense.  Natasha had placed a hand on his shoulder and was looking worried.  

“Brayden was the kid.  And he was totally not mine.”  Tony swaggered past them with the box, and they all watched him go, except Bruce, who had closed his eyes and slowly counting to ten, trying not to ruin one of his last good polo shirts.

 

*    *    *  


The next morning, the scene in the Avengers’ break room was indistinguishable from Tuesday’s.  Steve and Bruce sat on the couch; Thor sat at a table, hunched over a Sudoku puzzle; Natasha stared out the window, sharpening a dagger, and Clint drank coffee.

They were all surprised when Tony staggered in, wearing his new red-and-black suit, minus the helmet.  He had on sunglasses.

“You’re back,” said Thor.

Tony flopped down over the table and buried his face in his arms.  He mumbled something.

“What was that, Mechanical Menace?” asked Natasha sarcastically.

“I said,” said Tony, raising his head, “they’re _gay_.  I tried to get with Nemesis and she’s dating Scattershot.  And Pandemic says she’s done with men after how Jackal treated her.  I couldn’t bang any of them!  They only wanted me for my suit.”

“Poor baby,” said Natasha, voice dripping with irony.  “It must be _so tough_ to only be wanted for your body.”

Tony nodded miserably, missing the irony.

“I hoped you learned a lesson from all this,” said Steve calmly.

Tony nodded again.  “Yeah.  Never repaint the suit until I know I’m in a super-team for sure.”

Steve opened his mouth to protest, closed it, and then sighed.  “Well, good enough.  I meant you should have some loyalty to us and exercise some more forethought before jumping into things, but whatever.”

“Steve, you know how I am.  I’m an impulsive guy, and I’m terrible for myself.  On a scale of quitting smoking to drinking bleach, I’m a six.”

“Frankly, I’d peg you as an eight or nine of that scale,” said Bruce disapprovingly.

“They wouldn’t even consider a threesome with me!” groaned Tony, burying his face back into arms.  “That’s how gay they are!”

“How gay are they?” prompted Natasha.

“On a scale of completely, ramrod straight to San Francisco pride parade, they’re joining an intramural softball team.  That’s not even a joke.  They’re _actually joining a softball team_.”

“Why do you encourage him?” asked Steve quietly, frowning at Natasha.  

She tried to hide a smile as she continued, “And how bad do you feel right now, Tony?”

He heaved a world-weary sigh.  “The team is called the Badass Pitches and they wouldn’t let me join.  They _laughed_ and me and said I wouldn’t even get to first base!  And I think it was a double entendre when they said that!  On a scale of one to ten, where one is how I felt when that MILF called me Howard and killed my boner, and ten is Thor finally solving that fucking Sudoku puzzle, I’m a solid two right now.”

“ _Faen ta deg, Rævhål_ !” swore Thor, shredding his Sudoku puzzle into pieces.  “No god _or_ mortal could hope to complete this inane numerical enigma whilst everyone around him is constantly yelling out numbers!  May vultures eat your bones, Tony Stark!  Your scales are dreadful and serve no purpose in conveying your meaning!”  He strode out of the room and slammed and door.

Tony looked a bit surprised.  “Sounds like _someone’s_ had a bit too much coffee.”

Clint looked alarmed.  “I’m fine,” he said quickly, setting down his mug.

“Psh.  ‘Dreadful scales.’  What a douche.”  Tony looked around the room.  Everyone avoided eye contact with him.  “You guys like my one-to-ten scales, right?  ...guys?”

Bruce stood and walked over to Tony.  He reached into his pocket and offered him a small blue notebook.  “Tony,” he said gently.  “You need to work on your scales.  They’re… sort of… a little perplexing, sometimes.”

Tony dissolved into a miserable heap on the table, oblivious to Natasha’s eye-rolling.  “You’re right, Green Eggs and Ham!  I’m a disaster and so are my numerical comparisons!  I’m worthless!  I couldn’t even get on an all-women’s intramural softball league!”  

Bruce patted him awkwardly.  “It’s not that bad, Tony.  You’re still a member of at least _one_ special league.”

“What, the Giga Society?  The Manhattan Classic Car Club?  The Computing Machinery Association?  The Luxuriant Flowing Hair Club for Scientists?”

Bruce rubbed his temples, gritting his teeth.  “ _Us_ , Tony.  The _Avengers_ .  You have _us_.”

“Yeah.  You’ve still got us,” added Steve.

Tony looked at Steve, then at Bruce, then back to Steve.  Luckily, he didn’t look at Natasha, who was pretending to shove her finger down her throat and vomit.  “Thanks for taking me back, guys.”

“Tony, if we gave up on you every time you did something stupid, we wouldn’t have any time left to make fun of you,” said Clint.

“Thanks, Eyeballs McGee.  On a friendship scale of one to ten, where one is Jackal and Pandemic, and ten is those ponies from that cartoon I totally don’t watch… you guys are probably a five.”

Steve sighed.  “You know what?  Coming from you, Tony, I’ll take it.  Thanks.”

 

\- End -


End file.
